


Late to Ignatz Week

by ForgetMeNatz (Chillyfoot)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Art, Autumn, Beauty - Freeform, Brain Damage, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Ignatz Week, One Shot, Poetry, Ship Tease, The Mature tag is a surprise tool that will help us later, Travel, Unhappy Ending, White Winter Hymnal, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillyfoot/pseuds/ForgetMeNatz
Summary: As the title suggests, I have no sense of time or connection to the rest of the world, so I missed the beginning of Ignatz Week. I'll continue to add tags as I go along, because I'll inevitably be missing something until I reach the end of the week.Note: Days 1-4, 6, and 7 should be T-rated at most. This... anthology is rated M for Marianne singing in blood-soaked snow, which makes a lot more sense if you read Day 5.
Relationships: Leonie Pinelli & Ignatz Victor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Day One: Travel

**Author's Note:**

> This one is actually part of something bigger. Though not completely original for the purposes of Ignatz Week, this could double as proof of concept for the millionth college AU on this website alone. Also, Iggy's family gets characterization, very loosely based on my family dynamic. Dennis, by the way, is the Victors' firstborn son (who, by the way, does exist in canon, but not necessarily with a name).

“Are you guys seeing this?! Everything out here is amazing!”

Iggy’s mom looked at him funny. “If you’re this excited over grass as far as the eye can see, I can’t imagine what you’re going to think of DC.”

“Sure, there’s plenty of grass,” Iggy said, “but don’t you all notice how we’re driving by so many other things too? Look, there are mountains in the distance. Dennis is controlling a powerful machine that can take us much farther than people could have imagined 150 years ago. We’re passing other people headed who knows where, with lives just as meaningful and complex as ours…”

“No wonder you can’t sleep at night,” Iggy’s dad said.

This time, he wasn’t wrong. Iggy lost a few more hours than he cared to admit imagining Maryland’s monuments and the morning sun. Most of the time, though, it was… complicated. Iggy turned back to the window, enthusiasm mostly gone. No matter how beautiful the world was, it was so much better having someone to enjoy that beauty with. That somebody apparently would not be another Victor, not as long as Iggy had any ambitions of his own.

At least traveling would be fun, right? Iggy liked the idea of it: going out into the world, exploring himself and everything around him. There were so many things to try and places to see. Though Iggy knew he would never be able to do everything, it couldn’t hurt to dream.

“What about those clouds in front of us, Dad? Do they look like anything to you?”

Iggy’s dad puzzled over the clouds for a moment. “You know what they look like, son?”

Iggy leaned in from the back seat with a glimmer of hope. “What do you see?”

“Clouds.”

That was it. Iggy blocked out his family with help from the Mountain Goats and tried to discern shapes on his own. Many of the clouds arranged themselves neatly, like the patterned feathers on an owl’s back. A larger, darker formation loomed several miles ahead. There even seemed to be a few drifting clouds changing their shapes as fast as Iggy could identify them. A roaring lion’s legs stretched into those of a racing deer; the wispy wings fell away from an eagle, its beak warping into the jaws of a dragon.

Lion, deer, eagle. Weren’t those the mascots of Garreg Mach’s famous houses? Iggy remembered the deer clearly; it would be tragic if he forgot which house he was assigned. The other two were probably on the Student Life page of the Garreg Mach website, but he wasn’t about to check. He would find out soon enough.

“Iggy, are you listening? Ignatz!”

“What?” Iggy asked his mom, pulling the left cup of his headphones off of his ear.

“Do you hear me when I’m talking to you?”

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Iggy put his headphones back on and hung his head between his knees. Just one more hour on the road before they’d be at the airport, right? He didn’t really feel like traveling now.


	2. Day Two: Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have some poetry, because it's 1:17 AM of Day 3 and I can't be bothered to pump out more prose. I'm not a prolific poet, but I don't imagine Ignatz is either.

Before me, a canvas  
stretched to the four  
corners of the world,  
waiting to soak in  
its color and wonder.

Behind me, some paints  
filled with the essence  
of earth and sky,  
eager to give of  
their texture and shine.

In hand, a paintbrush  
with soft, supple bristles  
and a familiar handle,  
working with me again  
to preserve the present.

Behold me, my likeness  
all skin in clothes  
and bleary brown eyes,  
longing for the day  
I paint a smile.


	3. Day Three: Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignatz goes to draw in the forest, but is met by an unexpected guest. This came out of nearly nowhere except me internally gushing over Leonie's autumn-orange hair. There's just a touch of ship tease if you squint, too.

Tea, paper, charcoal, key. Tea, paper, charcoal, key. That was everything. Ignatz put the charcoal and his room key in his satchel and tucked the paper beneath his arm. He put on his shoes, grabbed his flask of tea, and left the dormitories.

Ignatz had discovered a clearing within walking distance of the monastery late in the summer. Deciduous trees flourished in the clearing, contrasting the monastery’s majestic evergreen forest. Still, given the blazing colors of their falling leaves, Ignatz welcomed the change of scenery. He pulled his charcoal out of the bag and began to sketch.

Because Ignatz didn’t have his paints (he was out of vermillion anyway), his focus turned to form. Each tree had a personality, evident in its shape and species. Ignatz aimed to tell every tree’s story with those aspects and the principles of art in mind.

The crack of wood and the beating of a partridge’s wings interrupted Ignatz’s drawing. “Dammit!” a voice called from the forest. When Ignatz looked up, he noticed an arrow firmly lodged in the second tree he worked on.

“Leonie?”

“Is that Ignatz?” Leonie asked, emerging from the trees. “You don’t hunt, do you?”

Ignatz opened his flask. The tea did not steam in the crisp autumn air. “I don’t, unless we’re on a mission.”

“Then what are you doing out here?”

Ignatz stared into his tea as he drank it. “I, uh, took a walk. To drink my tea.”

Leonie’s eyes shifted toward Ignatz’s sketches. “Hey, that looks pretty cool! Did you draw those?”

Ignatz almost said no. “Who else would have?” he asked instead.

“I dunno,” Leonie said. She walked over and picked up Ignatz’s paper. “Damn, you’re good. You got all of that just by looking at the trees?”

“That’s how one usually draws.”

Leonie sat there silently, glancing from tree to paper to tree. A leaf blew past her, its hue matching her fiery hair. “Are the ones with the rings birches?”

“Those were meant to be tree scars, but yes, those are birches. Compare this—” Ignatz pointed to a thin figure pockmarked with black— “with that,” he said, gesturing toward the yellow-boughed birch with the arrow in its side.

Leonie slapped Ignatz on the back. Ignatz yelped. “That’s awesome!” Leonie said. “Can I have some of your tea?”

Ignatz nodded, still wincing.

Leonie sat down beside Ignatz, warming her hands on his flask. “What are you doing in a place like the Officer’s Academy, anyway?”

Ignatz froze up. “Um,” he squeaked.

“Sure, you can shoot almost as well as me, but look at you! Come on, stand up.”

“Why am I doing this?”

Leonie took a gulp of tea and held up one of Ignatz’s arms. “Pshhk,” she snickered. “My arms are bigger than yours, man!”

“I know.”

Leonie held Ignatz’s sides from behind him. “Eat more! I can feel your ribs through your clothes!”

“You sound like Raph,” Ignatz complained.

“He’s not wrong.” Leonie backed up. “How come you get hips, but not me?”

Ignatz sat down and frowned. “You can poke fun at my skinny limbs and my bad eyesight, but don’t talk about the hips! That’s the thing I’m sensitive about!”

“Oops.”

Ignatz pushed his glasses to his forehead and covered his eyes with his hand. “It’s… never mind. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Leonie asked. “I probably shouldn’t have teased you at all.”

“Just don’t do it again. I’m insecure enough as it is.”

Leonie picked up her bow and collected her stray arrow from the birch tree. “See ya, then, Iggy. Dinner won’t catch itself.” As she returned to her hunting, Ignatz noticed the way the sunlight broke through the branches and landed on her jacket. Maybe next week, he could practice his lighting with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to burst your bubble, potential trans readers, but that was a John Mulaney joke, not trans Iggy.


	4. Day Four: Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty freakin' sure I'm qualified to write a modern band AU. I've been on every side of production (sadly, without a band to my name), so expect some of that shortly.  
This is not that chapter. :))) I'm saving the best (worst?) for last. In the meantime, let's get sad!

Wait for it...  
(Please advance to Chapter 5 for now. Sorry for the wait!)


	5. Day Five: Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle at Ailell, the Golden Deer get involved in another unexpected encounter. This one takes a turn for the worse.
> 
> Here's where our surprise tool comes in handy! (I suppose this could also double as "Battle," but "Winter" seems more fitting.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: lots and lots of blood (in two different colors!), traumatic brain injury, further bending of realism  
This one gets really intense, at least for my work. Do not expect anything remotely like what I put out for the past few days.

A weary army trudged through the Daphnel snow. Three mounted lancers led the way with torches that flickered in the evening, barely visible to the wyvern in the back of the train. In between was the army’s best infantry, tracing lines with the weapons they dragged. Many of the soldiers wore bandages stained with soot and blood.

“It never snowed like this at the Officers’ Academy,” Claude remarked. “A crying shame the first snow we see together wants to make sure we never return there.”

“Did it snow like this in Almyra?” Hilda asked.

“I’m sure it did, just not where I lived.”

A crash interrupted their conversation. “Lysithea’s down,” Raphael said. The torches stopped moving. Without hesitation, Raphael picked her up, dusted the snow off her face, and brought her to Marianne. Leonie passed a winter coat to her right, which was quickly wrapped around the unconscious Lysithea.

Ignatz shivered as he pulled his cloak closer to himself. “Would you guys rather live in unrelenting cold or the suffocating heat of Ailell?” Nobody answered. Silence hung in the air like the snowflakes, hovering before they settled to the ground.

The left torch wavered. Lorenz tasted the tea he warmed over it. Though his Earl Grey no longer contained chunks of ice, it was nowhere near a pleasant drinking temperature. He longed to return to the monastery, to a proper kettle, to a bed in a room of his own. They would be there soon enough, he assured himself.

Claude swore he heard another wyvern over the wind. “Teach, do you hear anything?”

Byleth listened around. Marianne was reading from her Healing tome, channeling the magic from her voice into Lysithea. Hilda groaned as the back of her mace whacked a chunk of ice onto the back of her leg. Ignatz hummed an unexpectedly cheery tune.

“Nothing of note,” Byleth said, turning to Claude. As soon as they turned around, a hand axe hurtled toward them. Byleth whipped the axe out of the air with the Sword of the Creator. “Never mind, we’re being followed.” 

“What? What do you mean, we’re being followed?”

Byleth picked up a splinter of axe handle. “None of you throw axes.”

“Halt! Someone’s behind us!” Raphael shouted. The torches stopped again. Swords and lances were thrust into the air as their wielders scanned the area for immediate danger. “About face!” In one fluid motion, each conscious fighter faced the opposite way. Claude, now at the front of the formation, nocked an arrow on his bow.

Someone else’s arrows sailed through the dark.

Barbara screeched at the arrows in her neck, blue-green blood dripping down her ivory scales. Ignatz fell to his knees behind her. Claude fired in the general direction of the volley before landing the white wyvern and firing again.

Raphael ran toward his old friend, vulnerary in hand. “Hey, Ignatz, you all right?” The snow around him was mottled with red, particularly by his back and head. Ignatz only gurgled in response. This wasn’t a job a vulnerary could fix.

Lorenz and Marianne reached the front lines. Lysithea was awake again, clinging in terror to Marianne’s horse. “What happened?” she asked Raphael.

“We were attacked. They shot Ignatz and Barbara down.”

Lysithea looked down at Ignatz, then quickly away. “Ew!” she cried. “It’s going through his neck!”

Marianne dismounted her horse and examined Ignatz’s wounds. “Liver and shoulder and neck shots, oh my.” She lifted his head off the ground; his fractured skull caved under its own weight. “Does anyone know how far we are from the monastery?”

Another monstrous screech pierced the chilly night. Lorenz galloped off toward the sound to find Ashe aboard a wyvern of his own. Though the two dwarfed Claude and Barbara, Claude’s quiver appeared to be nearly empty. Leonie treated a gash on her horse’s side, presumably put there by the smaller wyvern.

None of Lorenz’s magic could reach Ashe from a safe distance. Lorenz wished he borrowed Thyrsus from Lysithea; it would have saved himself some trouble. There wasn’t much left for him to do besides wait for a better opportunity, perhaps when Ashe ran out of arrows too.

Byleth rushed to the cluster surrounding Ignatz. “I take it things aren’t so great here?”

Raphael shook his head, tears forming in his eyes. Marianne thumbed through her tomes with increasing desperation, too worried to acknowledge Byleth’s presence.

“How much worse is it out there?” Lysithea asked from Lorenz’s oversized coat.

“Ashe came back for us, but not in the way I hoped.”

Byleth could only shrug. “I wanted to ask, but Claude was busy blowing him out of the sky.” They checked over their shoulder to find Claude waving his broken bow at Ashe’s angry wyvern. Its wings were shredded, probably thanks to Claude “...Or not.”

Ignatz opened his blood-crusted eyes. “Ashe?” he wheezed. “Frien’?”

“He’s on the other side now,” Raphael told him.

“No, can’ be.” Ignatz’s eyes wandered, his pupils no longer focused or even the same size. “He’s our frien’.”

“That’s enough!” Hilda yelled from afar. The wyvern collapsed, showering Hilda in a spray of sickly green. Ashe pushed off the ground and ran as fast as he could, only for Lorenz’s Bolganone to engulf him.

Lysithea tried to block out Ashe’s screams. “That was a long time ago, Ignatz.”

Claude, Leonie, and Lorenz walked their mounts over to Ignatz. Leonie opened her mouth to speak, closed it, opened it again. “Holy sword of Seiros, what happened to you?”

“Three arrows and a fall onto an exposed rock,” Marianne said. “I’m sorry I can’t do more right now to help him.”

“Where’s errybody?” Ignatz asked. “Someone’s not ‘ere.”

Hilda barged her way into the crowd. “You don’t need to worry anymore,” she reassured Ignatz. “We’re here.”

“Where’s Ashe?”

Everyone who knew exchanged glances. Nobody looked back at the fire where Ashe once stood.

Ignatz’s breath grew shallow. “Where’s Raph?”

“I’m right by your side,” Raphael said. “exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“Raph?”

Raphael put one hand on Ignatz’s uninjured shoulder. “Ignatz, I’m here.”

Ignatz turned his head until his glasses slipped into the bloody slush below. “Raph.”

“You can make it, Iggy!” Raph cried, in the voice his teammates only heard when he wrote back to Maya. “Don’t give up on us!”

“I… wish…” Ignatz’s arm jerked one last time before he sunk, limp and lifeless in Marianne and Raphael’s hands. Marianne let go and extended her arms to the goddess in prayer, humming the same song Ignatz did just an hour or two before. Its melody mesmerized Byleth, who knelt beside Ignatz and harmonized. Before long, the Deer who weren’t choking on their tears joined in to the best of their abilities.

When Marianne opened her eyes, she took the hands of Raphael and Byleth and added lyrics to her wordless dirge. “I was following the pack, all swallowed in their coats/with scarves of red tied ‘round their throats/to keep their weary heads from falling in the snow/and we turned ‘round and there you go/and Ignatz, you would fall and turn the white snow red as strawberries in summertime...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not already obvious, I had Fleet Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal" stuck in my head for the past few days, and this was the best/most time-consuming and disturbing way I could get it out. It's still not quite gone, so it should be visible in various parts of the story (not counting when Marianne sings most of the words).  
In other news, Claude's white wyvern pal is named Barbara von Streisand.


	6. Day Six: Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is beauty left in the world. Ignatz knows where to find it.

There’s a certain kind of beauty to Garreg Mach. Ignatz sees it in the town. Ignatz sees it in the mountains. Ignatz sees it in the homes and the birds and the goats and the trees. Garreg Mach has a majestic sort of beauty, the kind that Seiros would have created for her people to revere and remember her by.  
There’s a certain kind of beauty to the monastery. Ignatz sees it in the cathedral. Ignatz sees it in the academy. Ignatz sees it in the fishpond and the stables and the greenhouse and the halls. The monastery has a lively sort of beauty, its historical and religious significance drawing in awestruck visitors from all around Fódlan.  
There’s a certain kind of beauty to the people. Ignatz sees it in the students. Ignatz sees it in the staff. Ignatz sees it in the merchants and the hunters and the nobles and the knights. The people have a complex sort of beauty, with each of the virtues and passions and flaws that shaped them shaping the world around them too.  
There’s a certain kind of beauty to art. Art speaks for itself. Art speaks for its creator. Art speaks for legends and wonder and genius and time. Ignatz cannot describe the beauty of art in words. He can only explain after ribbons of sunny sky skip across his canvas, after he speckles the cliffs with wildflowers and lifts the leaves from their branches.  
There’s a certain kind of beauty to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a piece with an unambiguously nice ending. Enjoy it while it lasts.


End file.
